


Frenzied Fate

by seethesunshine



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fate, Fluff, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:57:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seethesunshine/pseuds/seethesunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life works in unexpected ways. Fate is a funny thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frenzied Fate

There’s this weird thing around, some call it fate, others call it destiny. I sometimes call it creepy.  Why? Well… in simple terms, I don’t want to be bothered. But in reality, there’s nothing freakier than riding the nine o’clock tube every night and playing googly eyes with handsome men and then seeing - or hallucinating - that they’re in the same place as you. Some would love it, and in my prime I did too - I say that like I’m 50 - but when you’re overworked and recently single without your knowledge…you get it. You don’t want to be bothered.

It’s been this way for the past few weeks. Every night, like clock work, I’d get on the near empty tube, take my seat and meet the eyes of a handsome older man, quiet with kind eyes. We’d never speak, usually each of us immersed in our papers, phones, what have you. I’d catch him staring and he’d give me this shit eating smile. He’d catch me staring and I’d look like a fish out of water; mouth slightly parted, eyes wide. He’d raise a brow and I’d blush like a teenager, tucking my head back into my work.

But, tonight, I’m not on the tube. Instead, I’m at a posh club with my girlfriends, knocking back shots and shit talking men. Who needs them anyway? I can’t deny that I wonder if he’s there and if he realized I wasn’t. If he’d think of where I am or if I’m alright? Then I snort loudly, gulp back the rest of my vodka tonic and proceed to tell the girls I’m going to dance off some steam. In a previous life I must have been Bridget Jones.

The swanky club is filled to the brim, something about Thursday’s and drinking. People are milling about, some men stalking out their prey. Me? I’m here in my too tight pencil skirt, prude white button down tucked in that Cress had to unbutton the first four, and my most prized possession - blade heels. Do I look like an uptight librarian?  Maybe, till you see what these pumps do to my ass - and toes. I’m dancing with myself, not quite sloshed but definitely tipsy. The room is dark and the music is loud and suddenly it’s way too hot as Cress shouts something in my ear, pointing at a gentlemen seated across the floor.

"Keeps looking at you!" She shouts at me, "go shake your little arse his way and get some."  
“Get some? Get some what?” I’m genuinely confused until I get a pointed glare.  
“Stop being a bloody nun,” she protests, pulling at my fifth button and fluffing my hair, “go!” She commands, turning me and smacking my bum.

I glare at her over my shoulder as my strained feet take me in his direction. Eight hundred quid for what? Pain is beauty, my mother would say. If it wasn’t so loud I’m sure he’d hear me gasp. The confused look etched across my face is near enough to echo the sentiments. We’re about a foot away and he smiles a little, that shit eating grin I’ve grown used to seeing. I’m glued to my spot and try to convince myself I’m totally blitzed. Must be. Unless he’s stalking me? Maybe he thinks I’m stalking him? Do I seem the type? God I hope not, I’m not that bad. Or maybe everyone has been lying?

My inner battle is interrupted with Cress wrapping her arm around my waist, tugging me towards his table. He’s sitting with a few men, I’d say all equally as handsome, table piled with drinks and bottles. I’m almost sure if she wasn’t holding me I’d collapse from confusion. I’m either going crazy or…?

"Boys," Cress starts, pulling me closer under my chest, my tits pushing the constraint of the remaining buttons,  "which one of yous is gonna buy us a drink?" She flirts as they a grin.

She nestles in between two of them, my tube companion standing to allow me to squeeze beside him. I’m staring like he has ten heads. Ten beautiful heads. He smiles as I stare at him, sitting beside me, aiding my hallucinations.

"Am I crazy or have we met?" He speaks, his voice giving me chills.  
I try stammering out a coherent sentence, “if I say yes I might be the crazy one.”  
He smiles, “you’re the woman I’ve been sitting across from.”  
“Nine pm tube?” I want to slap myself.   
He nods, “what are the odds?”  
“Not in my favor,” I grumbled, he’s gorgeous.   
“Whys that?” He asks, “don’t you believe in fate?”  
I shrug, looking around the room for a camera crew or Ashton Kutcher, “not really.”

He pours me a drink and refills his, the same grin settling on his beautiful face. He’s got bright green eyes and smooth pale skin. An Auburn tone filling his cropped curls. I hold myself back from touching him, he cannot be real.

"Why do you look so flustered?" He asks, sipping his whiskey.   
“Because you,” I point, my finger poking his chest, “cannot actually be sitting here. I’m hallucinating.”  
He laughs and I melt a little, “I’m definitely here.”  
“Are you stalking me?” I blurt, fiddling with my drink.  
“Would that make it more appealing?”  
“What? No!” I sigh, “you’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be just a distraction,” I stammer, “something I take home.”  
“You can still take me home,” he winks.

I think I die a little. His body is so close and he smells like a spicy cologne, I’m tempted to ask if it’s Gucci but I think I’m already as weird as it probably gets. He’s watching me and I want to touch him to be sure I’m not actually losing it and also because _good god_ he’s sexy. He’s wearing a bespoke Tom Ford to a club. It’s a stunning navy with a faint hint of shine, crisp white shirt that I’m tempted to unbutton like Cress did to mine.

"Fuck," I mutter, standing on my aching feet, I’m suddenly dizzy and anxious,  "I need air," I frown, pushing past him and heading towards the exit. I feel him behind me, not too close but close enough. My breathing is heavy and I want to turn back and touch him. How is he here? I realize I don’t know his name but he’s known - the stares give it away. If I wasn’t a slave to my work I’d be better acquainted with the media. The steel door of the emergency exit is heavy as I push it. It doesn’t slam behind me as I step into the alleyway. Instead, the click clack of his shoes are behind the pitter patter of my heels.

"What do you want?" I groan as I spin on my heel. He’s closer than I thought, my shoulder brushing his chest as I turn to face him. His eyes are dark and even more handsome under the street lights than the harsh tube lighting. I should be horrified but instead I’m turned on and appalled with myself. He’s a stranger.

"You," he says simply, his long slender fingers encircling my arms, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. My body burns beneath his touch and I think I’m going to faint or scream. He watches my reaction as I watch his face. I realize we’ve never properly introduced ourselves and unless he is stalking me he has no clue who I am or what I do. His hand stay put on my arms and I’m slowly trying not to die. I either don’t get any action or it hits me like a freight truck.

"You don’t even know my name," I stammer, unsexy at its finest.  
"So tell me it," he nearly whispers, his voice an octave lower and I think I lost my panties and my mind.  
"It’s Ruby," I manage.  
"Like the stone?" He teases more than he asks and I nod, suddenly annoyed because…because I’m not sure, "I’m Ben," he adds, his face millimeters from mine and I know I should push him away.

I know but I don’t, because for the first time in a long time I don’t feel the need to run away from the opposite sex. Albeit he is a _stranger_ of the opposite sex but I digress. I figure if he were to harm me it would have already happened within the first few weeks we’d unceremoniously met or within the last ten minutes in this deserted alley amongst numerous garbage dumps. He’s sexy and his voice make my knees weak - or my feet truly hurt from these shoes - and I’m sure there’s a surveillance camera somewhere along these walls if something bad did happen.

"I’m going to kiss you," he proclaims, as if I would actually fight it.  
I nod, my fingers trembling at my sides, “but you don’t even know me,” I try to sound a bit concerned except for the fact that my chest is heaving and my lips are parted and I’m ready to pounce.  
"I know that your name is Ruby," he almost laughs, "and that you take the tube every night at nine, after everyone’s already home, because you work a bit too hard," he waits for me to say something but I nod, "judging by your apparel you’re an office clerk of sorts, law, perhaps?" I nod again, "last Thursday you were teary eyed and solemn as you sat across from me."  
"You noticed?" Can we say pathetic?  
He nods, “you didn’t glance at your mobile once, didn’t open that Jeffrey Archer book you carried since Monday,” he adds and I’m more enthralled than scared, “I wanted to console you, however I doubt it would come off chivalrous on a deserted tube ride. And then Friday you were back to reading through what I’m assuming are lawsuits as if Thursday never happened.”

I heave a sigh and blink rapidly. I barely noticed anything past his appearance and here is he reciting my latest week. I should be worried. I should run. The only thing I’m worried about is how much longer I have to wait before he kisses me. I’m definitely losing it. He scans my face before he wraps a lean arm around my waist, my body flush with his. I’m nearly hyperventilating at the thrill of kissing a stranger, not from fear but from desire. _I still don’t believe in fate._ His fingers dig into my hip as his free hand pushes the mess of curls from my face, slender fingers tracing the skin from my jaw to the crevice of my chest. My legs are jelly, and if he weren’t holding onto me I’d be on my knees…which doesn’t seem so bad as I feel his body against mine.

I’m practically on my toes as his lips brush mine. He’s calm and collected and I’m frenzied and…probably a bit delusional. His lips work mine slowly; perfectly plush and warm against my lipstick covered mouth. It’s slow at first but when I come to my senses, our tongues fight for dominance. We’re all teeth and tongue and lips when my body returns to itself, my hands clawing at the fine material of his suit as we kiss in the barely lit alley. I should be scared but I’m not and that worries me. The fact that my inhibitions take over my mind is unlike me. I’ve never gone out on a work night. I’ve never locked lips with a stranger. I’ve _never_ imagined I would. Until I saw him on the tube weeks back and he was the source of my dirtiest thoughts. His hands roam my body, grabbing handfuls of my bum and pulling me closer, if it were possible at all. My fingers delve in his hair, tugging at the ends and earning delicious noises I can definitely learn to love. We pull apart for air sometime later. Both panting from desire and a bit of embarrassment. That really just happened.  

"Still don’t believe in fate?" He asks, his hands still gripping my sides.  
I shake my head no, “I’m not fully convinced.”  
"Then this is the part where I take you home like our mirrored thoughts have done the last few weeks," he counters, shit eating grin on his face, "and we can try to work this out."  
"That might take a while," I laugh, embarrassed but up for the challenge.  
"I have plenty of time," he nods, taking me by the hand and heading towards the street.

I must remember to thank Cress later.


End file.
